#reunionist

[lingeredtattookiss]

i need my baby taylor to post the kaylor reunion selfie. ik that photo is sitting still in that camera roll

[saved-to-be-sent]

The Image of Heaven

The image of Heaven is different for many: some imagine fluffy clouds, singing angels, pearly gates, and shining lights; others see countless realms of individualized paradises, complete with pets and buffet-style memory replay. The interpretations are almost as numerous as the interpreters. One of the most common aspects among believers, though, is the presence of loved ones, fellow communicants who passed on ahead of us and who are waiting with a congratulation and a harp. It is an almost universal belief in American congregations that our loved ones are looking down on this world, smiling and encouraging us. We cling to this idea, as it gives our lives a purpose: an afterlife we can think of in terms we understand, a verisimilitude that makes our existence seem worthwhile and meaningful. In this way, death becomes a graduation ceremony for believers wherein this mortal coil is shuffled off in exchange for a role as celestial supervisor, watching and waiting for those behind us to arrive and begin their own watches. It is a comforting thought, and nearly ubiquitous in Christian ideology. Scripture and theology, however, may point in a different direction.

My first inclination of a different image of Heaven comes from C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed. He notes that there is nothing in the Bible that indicates we will actually be united with our loved ones or that our loved ones will even recognize us on the other side. Strong words coming from a man grieving the premature death of his wife with whom he spent significantly less time than he would have liked. In this assertion, Lewis is touching on a key element of Heaven—it is not the fulfillment-place of our earthly desires and attachments. Heaven is the wellspring of the soul and cannot be constricted to our needs for tearful reunions. The sole reunion of import—the soul reunion—is that occurring between ourselves and the Godhead. We rejoin our loved ones as brothers and sisters in salvation, yes, but our eyes are meant to be turned outward to the majesty of God the King, tripartite and singular, not inward to the fulfillment of mortal expectations.

The idea of mortal expectations (re: reunion) being fulfilled is somewhat, even fundamentally, against the core concept of Heaven as a paradise because it introduces the potential of decidedly non-paradisiacal elements, namely disappointment and sorrow. What good is a paradise where sorrow is prevalent and some denizens are constantly longing for more in the face of others who have all that they need? Families and friends are torn apart daily over matters of faith, but the common conception of Heaven forces the separated faithful to watch as complete families enjoy paradise together. Yet this is inherently included in the mortal reunion model of Heaven. Not every person we know and love is necessarily Heaven-bound; whether due to predestination (a thoroughly dangerous and poisonous concept) or free-will, some will not come to the Father’s table. This is, though sad, a central understanding of our faith. And why some of our fellow citizens won’t see Heaven is important: they refuse to fully accept and embrace their places as children of God and servants of Jesus Christ. The continuing praise of the Godhead is the one and only point of Heaven. For us to recognize and place undue value upon our mortal attachments would be for us to detract from paradise in two instances: first, our sorrow—for it would be sorrow; deep, unending sorrow such as we could never know on Earth, akin only to, yet still dwarfed by, God’s sorrow at our distance from and neglect of His love for us—at the absence of non-believing loved ones; second, our joy over the presence of the prior departed and desire to simply live in Heaven as we did on Earth. Both of these are completely antithetical to the idea of Heaven as laid out in the scriptures.

This is by no means a new idea. One of the greatest poets of the English language described Heaven as non-reunionist in “Pearl,” the poem by which the anonymous author is remembered. The poet’s dream narrative features a child, a mere infant at the time of her death, grown into a woman of grace and stature in Heaven. What’s more, the only attachment she seems to feel for her father (the dreamer) is one of religious affiliation, eschewing notions of corporeal family altogether. She notes, when her narrator-father tries to play on feelings of sentimentality, that her sole focus in the hereafter is her role as a bride of Christ, eternally praising Him. She has been given, quite literally, a new body which itself is free from familial attachment and sentimentality, furthering the idea of non-reunion. Herein is the idea that our reward in Heaven is one of simplicity—when the scales of mortality fall from our eyes, we see a singular, eternal purpose that far surpasses the joys and tethers of anything we experienced on Earth. Even the most rudimentary, base affections of family ties are nothing compared to the call of Heaven’s labor of love (for did Christ not say that to truly follow Him would require leaving one’s father and mother?). The trials of mortality make way for eternal praise. How then can we be solely devoted to the everlasting praise due to the Father of all if we are attending to the emotions connected with a reunion of loved ones? Christ told us through the gospels that He goes ahead to prepare a place for us—we are to join as members of His Father’s house. Becoming a member of a household, as the Bible routinely demonstrates, is taking on a specific function; ours is to praise, no more, no less.

For those surrounded solely by fellow believers, this may initially seem a bleak turn. We put great stock in the idea that we will see each other on the other side—that we will be able to laugh again with our siblings or meet the grandparents for whom we are named. None of this is to say that we will not. Though not centered on reunion of earthly mentalities, Heaven is also not a place of drudgery or mechanical routine: awake, praise, lunch, praise, sleep. That, too, would not be paradise and would diminish the power of the free-will granted by our existence as children of the Most High. It simply means that our earthly cares and connections will not be important, and this is an important facet of the image of Heaven, especially for those intimately connected with non-believers.

I recently had a conversation with an aunt that demonstrated the profound mental/spiritual strain placed on those Christians tied closely to non-believers. She said she would forgo Heaven in favor of being wherever her daughter was (a professed non-religious person). She, a lifelong, devout Catholic, would trade eternal paradise and peace for separation from God for a supposed proximity to her daughter—”wherever she is,” in her words. Glossing over the idea that the only other place for a post-death soul is Hell—and Hell is meant to be torture (more precisely, eternal separation from grace and protection of God, but theoretically extendable to other realms of depravity and deprivation), which means that she would never be reunited with her daughter (because why would there be any meaningful happiness in Hell?)—the idea that we can be sad or remorseful in Heaven is preposterous. This woman—and any other person separated from a loved one—will not, and I believe cannot (if the idea of Heaven as a paradise is to be believed), have the capacity to feel anything but supreme joy when Heaven is attained. Just as being reunited in a recognizable way with loved ones detracts and distracts from the eternal praise-work, so too would being eternally separated. Further, to allow this intense grief to exist as a natural part of paradise—set apart from the natural grief that is human existence—is to fundamentally change the nature of God, making Him ultimately cruel, uncaring, and out of touch.

The idea here lies in the base substitutive concept of Christian salvation. Christ, in His redemptive existence, took upon Himself the weight, the burden, of our iniquity and suffering. For us—in place of us, instead of us—did He die. This did not stop at the cross, but continued into Heaven as He reclaimed His throne. While we exist on Earth, God’s heart breaks for (after) us; He wants nothing more than for us to come home to His loving protection. In Heaven, His heart breaks for (instead of) us; He continues to bear the weight of souls lost to humanity’s mistakes. The loved ones from which we will be separated will not go unmourned; instead of us, Christ suffers. The Suffering Servant is not a one-time title; just as we are called to continually seek out the Heart of Love in Christ, that same Heart chooses to suffer for us. Without final separation, salvation means nothing, yet we do not serve a heartless God. He continually and permanently has our best interests at heart. He has promised to keep up close, to heal us, to protect us. We have no issue, most of the time, believing in the probability of this not looking the way we anticipate while we temporarily occupy Earth; why, then, do we not believe it possible when we get to our eternal Heaven?